We Fight As Much As We Love
by all the glitters
Summary: Eager to join training with the boys, Morgana challenges Arthur to prove that she is a worthy warrior. Pre-series, set when they're both ten years old. No spoilers and romance, but definite implications. Arthur & Morgana.


We fight as much as we love

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of _Merlin_. BBC does.

Author's Note: First attempt at _Merlin _fanfiction and I hope that you'll enjoy this. Arthur and Morgana are my favorite ship and I definitely think that it'd be interesting to develop more of a back story and history between these two. There is no romance as this is pre-series when they are merely children, but there are certainly implications. Once again, please enjoy!

-

As he put his helmet on, Arthur could hear the whistling of the fellow children. The training field was flooded with young boys of his age, eager to learn the art of combat or… in most cases—and certainly _his_, eager to please their fathers. After all, they were noblemen, like his own—Uther Pendragon, the King of Camelot.

He sighed, turning around to confront the calm, yet determined face of an adolescent girl. He saw that her voluminous, raven hair was tied up and her lips were chapped as she sharpened her sword, almost oblivious to the boys' disbelief.

"Not again, Morgana," he muttered, hissing her name harshly.

Now adjusting the armor to fit her awkward, slight body, she glared at him. "Again would imply that you actually let me join yesterday."

"Father had said that you should be in class—_sewing_, is it?" he said scornfully, his tone ridiculing as the other boys laughed in the background. "Training is for _men_."

She chuckled humorlessly, shaking her head, rolling her dark and—at times—enticing—eyes. "Well," she started to say, before taking a step towards the prince. She shoved him lightly with a smirk, enjoying the fact that she towered over him by an inch. "Then you should not be here as well."

Although her voice and action were provoking, he knew that he could not exchange blows with her. He tried to convince himself that she was still hurting and rebelling against the new life she had never bargained for. Arthur told himself that he simply pitied her, having been orphaned after her father's death on the battlefield two months ago.

Her father had been a knight of noble birth. He was also a close, trusted friend of Uther, who decided to not only offer Morgana a warm home to live in, but to care for her as though she is his daughter.

However, although Uther had told him how the situation came to be, Arthur did not fully comprehend. Perhaps, it was because he could not feel the pain the young girl must have felt as he had never knew his own mother, Igraine. She died in childbirth and he could not learn to miss what he had never had to begin with. Besides, growing up in the castle with his father as the king meant that Arthur hardly understood the meaning of death. At the age of ten years old, his father been somewhat of an enigma—an immortal figure who criticized his techniques in combat, who never seemed to be proud of him.

The implications of the knight's death were lost on the boy as they were quickly replaced by the aggravation he had grown to feel towards Morgana. In the short time since she moved into the bedroom next to his, they had managed to argue and fight over every little aspect of the lives they took for granted. From attire to servants and now, they were once again head to head over her role as a young noblewoman.

Quite loudly, he added as he saw a small crowd gathering around them, studying the prince and the king's ward tentatively.

"Father would be upset if I break your arm," he laughed indifferently.

Wordlessly, she shoved him again. This time, the force felt harder in his collarbone.

"No," he said melodramatically. "I am not going to fight a _girl_."

She knew that he was boasting to his peers. "Fight me and I will prove to you that I am as good as any of you boys."

"Are you joking?"

With the swiftest of gestures, she swung the sword in her hand theatrically, daring him to do the same. "Pick your sword up."

Despite that her words were spoken with the utmost confidence, she knew that she had lucratively made the boy anxious and uneasy in her presence.

Holding his hands up in mock-surrender, he grinned arrogantly. "I told you, Morgana. I am too much of a gentleman—" He ignored her scoff as he continued. "—to ever fight against a female and have you forgotten? I am the best fighter here."

"If so, then—"

"I would not want to see a weak girl like you hurt and fighting for breath."

Quickly wielding her sword, she pointed it at Arthur. "No, _you_ would be doing that."

"Now, now, Morgana," he laughed as though he was amused, but she could see his crinkling, blue eyes illuminating a trace of fear. She thought that perhaps he was not only scared of her, but what the others would think if he lost. Or what if he were to win? His father would probably call him a coward for fighting her.

At her last straw, she pushed forward her silver sword, the sharp tip cold and intimidating as it touched the prince's neck. "I challenge you to a duel, Arthur Pendragon."

"Pick up your sword," Morgana pronounced, each word sober and deadly as they slipped out delicately from her lips.

Shaking his head, Arthur reluctantly secured his armor as he handled the weapon, but quickly found himself shoved back as her blade collided with his own forcefully.

They paced in a circle, their feet quickening, gaining momentum with every stride. He did not realize that her gaze was on his movements—swifter than any other soldier here training today. She was anticipating what he would do next and just like she had known, he launched himself at her, striking his sword at her torso.

Although their actions were quicker than the fluttering of a hummingbird's wings, the audience had gasped as she clutched her fist and manipulated her sword against his. The knights-to-be watched from a distance and could barely see the menacing smirk on Morgana's face as she was foreseeing his every move.

She compelled him to fall back slightly, but irritated as he quickly jostled his weapon to her chest. She fought it off quickly as she slammed her own into his blade, caught off hand by how aggressive her opponent truly was. Tightening the grasp of her free hand, she hooted, plunging her fist hard into his stomach.

She saw that his sword was once again thrusting the metal of her armor as she fell onto the ground. She felt her own figure—tired from carrying the heavy armor no child should wear—slam onto the hard grass painfully. Despite that she could hear something snap—or maybe it had been more of a _crack_, she ignored the excruciating pain and only saw Arthur pointing the sword to her neck.

She could tell that he was exhausted and sick of this mayhem as he muttered the words almost inaudibly, "Just give it up, Morgana."

As her body began to feel the foreign numbness, she gently raised her sword. She plunged it towards the boy mercilessly with the last ounce of strength she managed to savor as she jumped back onto her knees. With a fast kick, she had him plummet onto the floor and the instant he was to pick up his sword, she jerked it away.

Standing up, she watched his weapon as it landed harmlessly on the field, mere metres away from her feet. She lightly stepped onto his stomach with her foot, slowly lowering her blade to face the defenseless Arthur.

"Surrender," she mouthed, wiping fresh blood off her cheek with a grass-stained sleeve.

"Mor—"

"_Surrender_."

"Fine, I give up, Morgana," he said gravely as she lifted the sword from his chest.

Standing up, he saw the incredulity and confusion of the boys he trained with daily. He couldn't believe it either—he was the best fighter here. They all thought that he was the strongest warrior…

Not anymore.

As the champion removed her helmet, she laid the sword onto the table nearby and did not notice the boys gaping at her. She did, however, realize that no one had spoken since the prince admitted defeat. She was not sure if that was due to the respect the boys owed him or were they simply shocked by the battle itself. Loosening her hair, she faced to Arthur and said, "I have class now, but I'll be here Wednesday morning to join you in training."

She looked at him expectedly.

"Fine," he said solemnly.

She chuckled and as she looked into his eyes, she recognized something new.

A speck of admiration was enough to tell her that the battle had been worthwhile. She had done it. She proved quite convincingly that she was as good as—if not, better—than the soldiers in training.

He offered her a weak, but genuine smile and said, "I'll see you at dinner then."

She turned to him, before dashing off to the tower on the left. "So you will."

-

_End._


End file.
